


The Tipsy Bottle

by Griselda_Gimpel



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Canon - Manga, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Implied/Referenced Genocide, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Nazis by Another Name, Partial Nudity, Post-Canon, Slash, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 20:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16070918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Gimpel/pseuds/Griselda_Gimpel
Summary: Alex and Garfiel meet each other in Rush Valley.





	The Tipsy Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> I cringed when Garfiel showed up in the manga, so I wanted to write a fan fic where he wasn't a joke.

                Garfiel never did learn why Alex Louis Armstrong was doing a strip tease in the middle of the main street of Rush Valley, but the fact of the matter was that he was. Well, okay, maybe it wasn’t a strip tease exactly, but the muscular man did have his shirt off and was striking poses. He practically sparkled in the noon sun.

                “Oh my,” exclaimed Garfiel, pushing his way through the crowd. “What an absolute perfect specimen of masculinity!”

                He got looks from some of the other people in the crowd, as if they, too, weren’t ogling the half-naked man. Garfiel ignored them as he always did. He had learned long ago that in life, you had to choose: you could be who you were or you could pretend to be who would make other people happy. He had chosen the former.

                His parents had disowned him his first year of college, when rumors had gotten backed to them that Garfiel had a boyfriend. He’d finished his degrees – a double in mechanical engineering and electrical engineering – by having his richer classmates pay him to do their homework. He’d lived on cheap noodles and slept on his roommate’s couch to keep costs down. Then he’d moved to Rush Valley and opened Atelier Garfiel and life had been good.

                The muscular man heard Garfiel’s comments. “You really think so?” the man asked. He seemed almost surprised, as if no one had ever complimented his muscles before. With a sinking feeling, Garfiel realized that could very well be the case. Even in the wake of everything that had happened on the Day of Reckoning, Amestris still wasn’t a place were certain feelings could always be expressed openly.

                “Oh, yes,” Garfiel assured him. “Your body is a work of art.”

                “Would you like to touch them?” the man asked.

                “Oh, yes!”

                “Get a room!” shouted someone in the crowd.

                “Curb your jealousy, and I’m sure you’ll get a turn, too,” Garfiel shot back, winking. To the muscular man, he said, “I’m Garfiel.”

                “Alex Louis Armstrong,” the other man said. He scratched the back of his head in a sheepish movement. “What do we do now?”

                “We could get a room, as suggested,” Garfiel teased, wagging an eyebrow, “but perhaps you want to invite me to dinner first?”

                “Does the Shellfish Chardonnay at seven sound good?’

                “That will be absolutely perfect. Well, I must be off. I’ll need to get ready for tonight.”

                With that, Garfiel and Alex parted ways for the afternoon.

                They found themselves together again that evening, in a private corner of the restaurant. The server brought them menus and sparkling water. After some light chit chat, they placed their orders and turned their attention properly to each other.

                The first course was a salad of lemon balm and scallions, with prawns on top. Alex was doing most of the talking. Garfiel didn’t mind. Alex was clearly looking for approval, and Garfiel knew what that was like. It had taken him years before he could go on a date without babbling double-major-genius-automail-engineer before the main course had even arrived.

                “And that’s how I mastered the art of portrait drawing, which has been passed down in the Armstrong family for generations,” Alex was saying as Garfiel finished his last prawn.

                A server arrived to take away their salad plates, and another server placed the main course in front of them. Alex was having the special for the night: ortolan with wild rice. Garfiel had gone with turducken and potatoes.

                “You seem really close to your family,” Garfiel remarked as they started on their food.

                “Oh,” Alex said.

                “Hm?”

                “I actually got banished from the family mansion three years ago,” he explained, and Garfiel’s heart broke for him. Garfiel swore to himself that Alex would have the best night of his life after dinner.

                “You poor duckling,” Garfiel said.

                “I could have fought harder,” Alex said quietly, “but I didn’t want to hurt family.”

                “Yes, I understand,” Garfiel assured him.

                “My sister and I have actually talked a couple of times since the Day of Reckoning,” Alex said, “but she’s a hard woman to please. She wasn’t even impressed when I became a State Alchemist.”

                “A what?” Garfiel asked as Alex finished his ortolan.

                “A State Alchemist,” Alex repeated, setting his napkin down on the table and then adding proudly, “eleven years now. Just got recertified last week.”

                Garfiel felt his blood run cold. It was like all sound in the restaurant died away except the two of them. Words rushed to his tongue only to die there. _Were you in Ishval?_ he wanted to ask, but of course Alex had been. All of the State Alchemists had been.

                There had been an Ishvalan neighborhood in Rush Valley, before. It hadn’t been large, but it had been there. That is, until one day it wasn’t. Garfiel had no illusions. Periodically, a politician would seek to bolster their profile by railing against “sexual immorality”. Then the raids would increase for a while, until the politician’s star faded and the next one chose a different kicking bag. A politician pushing things too far was all it would take for Garfiel’s little slice of heaven in Rush Valley to come crashing down.

                Oh, things were supposed to be different now. Ishval was being rebuilt. Amestris had a positive relationship with one of its neighbors. But Garfiel couldn’t help but notice that it was mostly still the same faces at the top. For goodness’ sake, there was talk of the Flame Alchemist becoming Führer.

                So while Garfiel’s taste in men was wide and varied, while he loved tall men and short men and fat men and skinny men and masculine men and feminine men and men who were everything in between, he didn’t love men who were soldiers. And he definitely didn’t play with State Alchemists.

                “Oh, how nice,” he said, and stuck a potato in his mouth to buy himself time. He’d learned in his teenage years how to smile when he didn’t mean it, but he was going to need a solution. He considered his options.

                Continuing to pursue a relationship with Alex was completely out of the question. As he ate another potato, he wondered idly how that would play out. Was Alex the type of man who’d hand over his own lover? Or would he protect those he personally cared about while strangers disappeared suddenly in the night.

                He could pretend to have an emergency, but he risked Alex wanting to follow up with him afterward – and if he oversold it, Alex might get clingy. He needed Alex out of his life entirely, now, before things went any further.

                Dumping Alex outright might backfire. He didn’t know Alex well enough to be confident that Alex wouldn’t react violently. Garfiel was muscular enough, but Alex was an alchemist. He found himself wondering just how much innocent blood was on Alex’s hands before pushing that thought away so he could focus.

                The best strategy, he realized, was to slide Alex out of his life without outright rejecting him. And he needed to protect himself the best he could, in case Alex talked about him with any MPs. Garfiel mentally ran through what he had told Alex about himself, and was relieved to see it was not much.

                As the main course was taken away and a spinach crème brûlée dessert placed before them, Garfiel took a deep breath and put his plan into action.

                “You know,” he remarked, “it’s so nice to have a guy friend to hang out with. It’s refreshing to have dinner with someone other than my wife, you know?”

                “You have a wife?” Alex asked, surprised.

                “Oh, yes,” Garfiel pushed on, lying through his teeth, “little young thing. Blond haired and knows her ways around the tools, if you know what I mean.”

                “Oh. It’s just, I thought-”

                “Thought what?” Garfiel asked with perfectly feigned innocence. He was careful not to let it sound like an accusation.

                “Nothing,” Alex said, looking crushed. “I, too, am very heterosexual. It’s been passed down in the Armstrong family for generations.” He almost mumbled the last sentence, and there were tears at the corners of his eyes.

                “Right,” Garfiel said, “two men should be allowed to have a nice dinner together without people thinking there’s anything unnatural about it.” He hated himself a bit how accurately he had judged Alex. With a few sentences, he had assured that Alex’s shame at his perceived mistake would prevent him from seeking Garfiel out again.

                “Why don’t you wear a wedding ring?” Alex asked, and Garfiel mentally sighed as her prepared his next lie. He really didn’t need this. He ran a successful automail shop in a place saturated with successful automail shops. The great Dominic LeCourte recommended apprentices to him. The now emperor of Xing had called Garfiel “lovely”. (The boy was much too young for Garfiel, of course, but it was still flattering to be complimented by royalty.)

                “I’m afraid I’ve been a naughty boy,” Garfiel said. He leaned in conspiratorially. “You see, I don’t actually live in Rush Valley. I’m just here visiting my piece on the side. Dark hair and legs to die for. Naturally, she and my wife don’t know about each other, so I don’t wear my wedding ring when in town. You won’t tell, will you?”

                “That’s very dishonest!” Alex said. “You should cherish your wife.”

                _So genocide’s okay but_ adultery _is where you draw the line?_ Garfiel wanted to ask but didn’t. He hung his head in feigned shame. “You know, I was actually thinking of breaking things off with my mistress.”

                “You should do that,” Alex said sternly.

                “I will,” Garfiel promised.

                The server took away their dessert and brought coffee. They split the check and bid each other appropriately restrained good-byes.

                Garfiel went down the street and used a payphone to call Paninya.

                “Hey, Paninya. Can you meet me at the Tipsy Bottle in half an hour? I need two, no make it three, lightning bolts and a sympathetic ear.”

                “…”

                “Yes, everything is- everything will be fine. I’ll be fine. Just a bad date. A really bad date.”

                “…”

                “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

                Garfiel hung up the phone and headed for the bar. The Tipsy Bottle was Rush Valley’s foremost social place for those who didn’t fit in with straight society, and its doorsteps weren’t darkened by members of the military unless they were raiding it. He’d feel better after a couple of hours there with Paninya.

                Back at the restaurant, Alex didn’t leave right away. He sat at the table, alone, grieving the loss of something he didn’t know how to fix or even entirely understand.


End file.
